


A Contradiction, Something Beautiful

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Don't Ever Change [9]
Category: Actor RPF, Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Arguing, F/M, Gen, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, Romance, Texas, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Amanda told me Cricket posted a picture of Tom and a cow.”</p><p>“Tom is visiting Texas,” I explain, then sigh. “I’m sure he found a cow.”</p><p>“Do they just roam aimlessly around Texas looking for him?”</p><p>“Well, no. But, it is Tom. I’m sure they found a Texas cow for him.”</p><p>“Longhorn.”</p><p>I sigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Contradiction, Something Beautiful

OoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

Pamela gave up glowering in Never Springs’ town square shortly after Door left to speak to Kirsten. She knew she couldn’t hangout around Tom now that he’d chosen to go along with Kirsten’s scheme (and was thoroughly enjoying himself), so she went up to the main house to suffer through doing a puzzle. Doing a puzzle with Ingrid— since she’d lost Door as a puzzle companion— seemed like a good idea till Pamela got down to it. 

Pamela spent most of her time trying to organize the puzzle pieces so they were neat and orderly— then Ingrid would take a few and mess up Pamela’s system.

Pamela Fitch was not meant for puzzles. 

“So, it was a surprise Tom showed up, right?” Ingrid asked as she began to get things together for dinner, leaving Pamela to organize the puzzle pieces to her heart’s content without interruptions. 

“Uh, yeah. I guess. Door knew,” Pamela said, making a perfect square image with the pieces.

“Ah, of course Door was in on that,” Ingrid commented, vanishing into the kitchen. 

Pamela blankly stared at the half assembled square of puzzles pieces while listening to Ingrid bang around the kitchen. She placed a finger one a piece of solid blue and pushed it in a circle. 

Surprise!

Tom Hiddleston was here to see you!

Surprise!

Tom Hiddleston was too nice to say, “No, I don’t want to play Texas Ranch Tour Guide today.”

Surprise!

Oh, who was she kidding. Tom had been in his element and it was breathtaking. He was having fun and for some reason Pamela got the feeling it’d been some time since he’d had so much fun. If he looked like that while working— Pamela would need to remain far away from him at all times when he was working or she might ruin it.

Pamela shivered. 

Shaking herself, she pushed a few puzzle pieces into the next row to form the square, not bothering to notice the action around her till she felt someone sit a little closer than normal next to her on the bench she was seated on. She startled, turning to find a smiling Tom Hiddleston. 

“Good evening,” he greeted. 

Besides dropping the Old American West accent he’d invented for himself, Tom had changed back into his own clothes. He smelled faintly of dust, sweat, leather, and something else that wasn’t normal. 

“Good evening,” Pamela replied, her stomach knotting up and exploding with butterflies at the same time.  

Tom reached over and pulled a huge bowl of potato chips towards himself— mindful of Pamela’s meticulous put together puzzle piece square. “Did they offer you a beer?”

“I don’t drink beer,” Pamela said, indicating to her glass of water she’d been nursing all afternoon. “Are you done?”

“Yes. The ranch has closed and I signed my final autograph,” Tom said serenely. “I’m all yours now.”

He smiled at her and Pamela’s head went a little blank. 

“Hey, you two seen Jason?” 

Pamela tore her eyes off Tom to find Door standing at the other end of the table, looking mad. Her hair even looked upset— but that could be due to the fact it’d been bound in a bonnet all afternoon (Pamela had heard but not seen. Ingrid kept a running commentary on what was going on in town). 

“I can’t seem to find him. I found the dogs, but no Jason.”

“No, I haven’t see him,” Tom replied, popping a few chips into his mouth.

Door frowned while Pamela scowled deeply. 

“Have you seen Kirsten?” Pamela asked. 

“Not since she put me in that damn dress,” Door grumped, stomping across the wood floor. She fell down onto the bench across from Tom and Pamela and began randomly talking about the puzzle and stealing pieces of Pamela’s puzzle square. Door tried to jam pieces into various spots without success. Tom picked up pieces and put them in the right place.

Of course, Tom Hiddleston could put the blasted puzzle together. 

Pamela bit her lip and studied Door as she continued to sit there oblivious. She glanced at Tom, who also seemed to fail feel something was amiss. Pamela had noticed almost four years ago when the Abercrombies began make frequent trips to Boerne. Pamela had never gone with them during the various trips to “visit” Dan’s family’s ranch, but a few times they’d gone up there for the weekend when Dan had not gone to visit home (which he often did as he could not stand to be in the dorms with all the other singles guys). 

(Not something Pamela could blame him for…) 

When Dan’s family had shown up for Jason’s graduation (because they knew half the class even though Dan was no longer in that class because he’d gone T-38), Pamela knew something was just _wrong_.

Pamela might be an idiot when it came to herself and guys, but she noticed something going on between Jason and Kirsten that overly hot day in July.

Door hadn’t and had looked at Pamela as if she were nuts when Pamela mentioned it.

No one else noticed anything either when Pamela had discreetly inquired around. Jason had always vanished for long periods of time. And he wasn’t a chatty fellow, so no one knew where exactly he went when he’d go MIA— and no one was bothered. Pamela hadn’t been bothered until that graduation weekend. 

Pamela didn’t want to think ill of Jason. He and Door were a great couple…they worked well for how different they were. And Pamela hadn’t witnessed Jason and Kirsten together without a hoard of people around, but she’d heard Kirsten’s comments about Jason and had noticed her staring at him with a look that made Pamela’s insides crawl a little. 

By the time the weekend was over, Pamela disliked Kirsten Elfoson quite a bit and she was sure something had happened— partly from the shifty look Jason had about him each time Door bounded into the room jabbering excitingly about leaving Del Rio. 

Kirsten didn’t spend the day today with Jason where ever he’d vanished off to because she was too busy monopolizing all of Tom’s time, so technically, Pamela shouldn’t be worried. 

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Pamela turned to Tom to find him peering at her, looking concerned. He placed a hand on her knee, looking a little shocked to find it bare. He covered and kept his hand where it’d landed, his eyes never leaving Pamela’s own.  

“Nothing. Just being stupid. Where’d Door go?”

Door had vanished. 

“She announced she’d died of hunger and fell on the floor,” Tom said, sounding amused. He removed his hand and sat up straight. 

“Woe is me!” came Door’s voice from the floor. “Here lies Dorothea Judoc-Abercrombie, also known as Cricket Heidi, Designer of Ugly Orange Totes. She was not killed by fugly orange pieces of leather, but lack of food. Woe is me!”

“Oh, you’re a little drama queen, Dorothea,” Ingrid teased, walking in holding a large platter of steaks and followed by Howdy. “Get up off the floor.”

Door leapt to her feet, her face beet red. 

“Terribly sorry. I’m rude,” she apologized.

“No, just strange,” Howdy said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Where are the others?”

“I’m here!” Dan shouted, falling into the house through the front door. “I helped Colt and Johnny close up. Where’s Kirsten and Jay?”

“No one knows,” Door said, sitting down next to Pamela. “I assume Jason is with the dogs.”

“Kirsten’s likely counting the money,” Howdy said, setting a plate down on the table— right in front of Door. She frowned at it’s lack of food. 

“I did that. We’re rich!” Dan cried, sitting down across from Pamela. He seemed to noticed Pamela for the first time. “Oh, Pamela.”

“Hi. I’ve been hanging out with Ingrid all afternoon. Don’t feel bad,” Pamela assured as the back door opened and Kirsten stumbled in.

She looked a bit mussed. 

“What happened to you?” Howdy asked, catching sight of his step-daughter.

“Fangirls,” she said gravely. She smoothed her hands over her hair a few times, smiled brightly and bounced over. “I believe they are all gone now. Thanks, Tom. This has been totally awesome. Can we get you to come back sometime?”

“We’ll see. I’m rather busy,” Tom replied, eyeing the platter of steaks in Ingrid’s hand. 

“FEED ME!”

Everyone stared at Door.

“Sorry, did I say that out loud? I’m terribly sorry. I go a bit nuts when starved, kidnapped and rescued while wearing a horrible smelling dress all day.”

Ingrid picked up a steak and plopped it on the plate in front of Door as the front door opened and in came several large dogs and Jason— who was covered in fur. 

“You’re furry!” Door exclaimed. “Basil’s gonna hate you tonight because you’ll reek of other dogs! Finally! My puppy will love me!”

“You should feed her,” Jason said, giving Door a strange look. 

“Working on it. Sit, sit, sit,” Ingrid said, plates flying with steak and other things left and right. 

* * *

“Where are you staying?” Door asked as they neared the side of town Pamela was staying on. 

“Oh,” Tom said, digging around in a bag at his feet for a moment. He extracted a pile of papers and shuffled through them. “Hampton Inn?”

“Where the hell is that?”

“Just after Evans,” Jason intoned. “You pass it on your way to base.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, you do. I don’t. I go the right way.”

“I do not go the wrong way.”

“Yeah, you do!”

“I DO NOT!”

Pamela sighed, sinking back into the seat, slightly embarrassed to witness this pointless fight. She had noticed the pair snipped at one another more often than they used to— she’d chalked it up to the fact Door was over stressed.

Now, Pamela worried it was something else.

Jason was usually quite calm. And he hardly ever got mad, upset or anything. He was cool, collected and, well, calm. 

Pamela needed to buy a thesaurus. 

“My way is the BEST way!” Door proclaimed, anger in her voice instead of humor. “AND YOU DID IT AGAIN!”

“Did what?”

“Got into the wrong lane and just went passed where you needed to get off to drop Pamela off!” Door shouted.

Jason didn’t respond. 

Door didn’t say anything either, simply folded her arms across her chest and seethed. Tom looked uncomfortable, shifting a little in his seat and eyes darting between the ice cold anger issuing from Jason and the slow simmer Door had entered. 

“Well, you could just drop me off at Pamela’s. I’ll call a cab,” Tom offered. “I’d like to speak to Pamela anyhow.” 

He turned to Pamela. 

“If that is fine with you?”

Tom looked a little sheepish, inviting himself over.

“It’s fine.”

The two in the front didn’t say anything. Jason got off at the next exit, used the turnaround, headed back they way they’d just come, and found his way to the hotel without further incident. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Door said.

To whom she was speaking was unknown, but both Tom and Pamela agreed and got out of the car. The car roared off into the night, leaving Pamela and Tom on the curb. 

“Well, uh, it’s this way,” Pamela said, indicating to the stairs behind her. 

Tom nodded. “I don’t have to come up. I don’t know why—”

“It’s fine. I’ve got a living room, TV, and snacks. It’s not even nine. We can hang out. Unless you want to check into your room. I’ve got a car.”

Pamela pointed at the silver Jetta to her left. 

“Oh, well…I…it’s just…this hasn’t gone as planned at all,” Tom sighed, looking extremely tired suddenly. 

Pamela smiled softly. “No. Did you know we were going to the ranch?”

“Yes, Door told me. I just…I fell asleep, then I…well, Kirsten…then Door and Jason…”

Tom seemed to have lost his ability to use words. Pamela frowned peering at the man closely.

“You’re dead on your feet, aren’t you?”

“What? No. I’m not. I’m fine.”

Pamela hummed. “Uh, huh.”

“I am.”

Pamela had a feeling if she took him upstairs, he’d fall asleep. Part of her wanted to keep him with her— the selfish part. The other part wanted load him into the car and drop him at his hotel so he could sleep. 

“Come on up.”

The selfish part won. 

* * *

Tom lasted about a half hour before he was fast asleep on the couch, feet hanging over the side as he was too tall for the thing. Pamela had tried get him to move before he fell asleep too deeply, but failed. 

She stared at the sleeping form on the couch. She grabbed a sticky note out of the desk drawer, wrote a quick note about the couch turning into a bed and stuck it to his forehead. Out of the closet in the bedroom, she grabbed the extra blanket and pillow, leaving them on the floor next to his head.

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Benedict_

There is a phone ringing in my ear. 

“Shuddup,” I mumble at the phone, whacking it with my hand a few times.

“BEN!”

“Door?”

“Sorry to call you so damn late,” she mutters. “Can you email me your schedule?”

“Why on Earth do you want that?”

“I’m coming to London. I know it’s rude to invite myself, but…”

“I don’t mind, but what?”

“I don’t know. I’m so…furibund. I thought I was just hungry, but I’ve eaten and I’m still…mad. And it’s not that time of the month. Because then I’d be smad.”

My cheeks heat up. It’s much too early for me to deal with _that_.  So I focus on the last thing she said. “Smad?”

“Sad and mad. Not my word. It belongs to Sookie,” she announces. 

“Okay,” I say slowly. 

“You’re my man in London. I had the idea before I got pissed off. Between…yeah…and the purses, I need out. Must get out.”

“I’m so confused right now.”

“Just email me your schedule. I mean, I kind of know it, but at the same time I don’t. Do you have to go to the Hobbit stuff in May? Like after you’re done with Sherlock?”

“Yes, but not for very long.”

“Okay.”

“How do you even know about that?”

“Isn’t there always something to do months before the movie actually comes out?” she asks. “I don’t know. I follow Simon Pegg on Twitter.”

I have no idea what that has to do with anything. This whole conversation is over my head. I feel like I’m missing something quite important.

“What is really wrong, Door? What’s gotten you in such a state?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Ah, something is rotten in the state of Texas. 

“I don’t know. Everything,” Door says, sighing dramatically. Something is greatly awry. I can hear it in her tone of voice and I can almost feel the tension over the phone line. “I fought with Jason. I can’t remember the last time we actually fought with words.”

“Do you usually not use words?” I ask, slightly horrified to hear her answer.

“No. Silence. We both go silent,” Door replies. “It’s weird for me to be silent, not Jason, but that’s how we both deal with our anger. We go into Silent Mode and don’t fight. We were all out bickering in front of Tom twice today and Pamela once.”

“Oh.”

“And it was so stupid. Jason got into the wrong lane both times out of habit and forgot where he was doing. He doesn’t do that, that’s the kind of thing I do, but he did it twice today! And then he got pissy at me when I pointed it! And we yelled at one another and then went into silent mode. We’re still in it.”

“Only you’re not silent.”

“But, I’m not talking to him,” she points out.

I sigh, rubbing my face with my hand. It’s too early for this. Or too late. What time is it?

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” she says in a small voice.

Heart twists. Damn. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Door. It’s fine. I have to be up in a few hours to catch a train to Bristol.”

“Oh. _Sherlock_ filming.”

“Yes. I’ve got that all week but mostly in Cardiff. Set work mostly. I’ll be in London for the London premiere of _Into Darkness_ and promo, then the _Graham Norton Show_. Next week I’ve got two days off to do _Star Trek_ promotion in New York.”

“Oh! Yeah,” she says. 

“You could come up to New York.”

“Huh? Will you have time for me? Won’t you be busy promoting?”

“Well, yeah, but if you’re looking for a quick getaway from life, what better place than New York City? Have you been?”

“Yeah. But…you’re right,” Door said. “And I can use miles to get there. I can’t get to London.”

I hear clicking.

“Shouldn’t you broach the subject with Jason?”

“Eh. I’m on a mission to find orange leather,” she proclaims somewhat randomly. “I’m going to go to bed now. Sorry for waking you. Oh, and still send me the schedule. I still wanna go to London and I know you’ve got projects lined up till 2015 or something insane.”

“Alright. I’ll send it to you,” I agree. “Goodnight, Door.”

“Night, Ben.”

I hang up the phone and bury my face in my hands. 

There’s no way I am going back to sleep.

I should be mad at Door. I should be furious at her for waking me up. But…I’m not and I feel bad because the reason I’m not angry is because I’m a bleeding twit whose glad she had a fight with her husband and her first instinct was to phone me. 

Me.

The guy she’s only ever met in person once.

Me.

The actor who lives in London she met once, talked to on the phone a few times, and chats almost daily with on Skype.

Me.

I’m doomed. Utterly doomed. 

* * *

The morning has things looking brighter. If only because it’s light out and everything looks harsher glow of day. 

I never got back to sleep, so I drove to Bristol.

I shouldn’t have done that.

“Are you okay?”

I’m a zombie when I’m not Sherlock. 

“You ask me that often as of late,” I wryly say, looking down at Martin— dressed in his morning dress finest. 

“Well, it’s a good question,” Martin reasons. “I thought you were going to your parent’s cottage for a good old fashion country weekend?”

“I did. It was lovely.”

“Your interview go well?”

“Yes. It was quite fun, actually. Except the part where my mother began asking Ms Moran if she knew a nice bird for me,” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.

Martin snorts. “She asked a reporter that?”

I nod. “Yes. She’s my mum. It’s impossible for her not to embarrass me in her quest for grandchildren.” 

Martin chortles. “Sure. So, besides that, what’s bothering you?”

Martin gives me a knowing look. 

“Cricket,” I sigh.

“What did she do now? Amanda told me Cricket posted a picture of Tom and a cow.”

“Tom is visiting Texas,” I explain, then sigh. “I’m sure he found a cow.”

“Do they just roam aimlessly around Texas looking for him?”

“Well, no. But, it is Tom. I’m sure they found a Texas cow for him.”

“Longhorn.”

I sigh. 

“Stop with the sighing. What’s up?”

“She had a fight with her husband,” I admit, before clamping my mouth shut. 

“It happens,” Martin says easily. “Everyone has fights. It’s normal.”

Martin is looking at me as if I’m barmy.

I am barmy. I am utterly, totally round the bend.

Especially now that I am laughing like someone who needs to be sectioned. 

We are friends. Friends call each other in crisis. 

I’m being completely dense.

I am sure Door will have forgotten about demanding my schedule for the next three years when I speak to her later. 

* * *

She doesn’t forget.

I give it to her.

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

Pamela awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee. She sat up, looking around the dark room in confusion for a moment till she remembered Tom was in the other room and likely the person brewing coffee. Stumbling out of bed, Pamela went to her closet and threw on some clothes before smoothing her hair down. After making sure she didn’t look like she’d just rolled out of bed, she opened the door. 

Tom had in fact woken up in the middle of the night, if the new position of the couch was anything to go by. How he had moved, unfolded and refolded the sofa bed without waking her with the noise was beyond her. She took a few steps out of the room into the main living area and looked for Tom. 

“Good morning!” he greeted. “Sorry about falling asleep on you.”

He looked a bit sheepish.

“That’s fine. Did you pull the sofa bed out or just move it?”

“Yes, on both counts. It was only a bit more comfortable extended than the couch,” Tom admitted with a grimace.

“Well, sorry. I tried to get you to take the bed. You kept telling me you were going to go home,” Pamela laughed. 

Tom’s cheeks tinted faintly pink with embarrassed. 

“It’s fine. You’re talking to the Queen of Jet Lag,” Pamela reminded him. 

She excused herself to use the bathroom. When she returned, she found Tom had poured the coffee and was studying the row of cereals in the cabinet. He turned at the noise she made pulling out a bar stool.

“You enjoy cereal, I see,” he teased, grinning at her.

“I do. Healthy ones are the ones I eat for breakfast, the sugary ones are for snacking on when the mood hits me.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “You seem somewhat salubrious.”

Pamela nodded. “If you mean healthy, then yeah. And before you say it, it has nothing to do with being in the military. If you saw some of the— never mind. I’ve always been like this. Thank my mom. She was always shoving healthy food down our throats. I didn’t even like chocolate till I was six, didn’t have fast food till I was almost ten and still can’t stand to drink pop.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow.

“Soda, Coke, fizzy drink,” Pamela filled in. “I can’t even remember what it’s called depending on where I am. I didn’t grow up knowing what it was really, just that I didn’t like it.”

Tom smiled, turning back to face the cabinet. “All the better for your teeth.”

“Yeah. I tell myself that all the time,” she laughed. “So, anything you’d like to see while you’re here?”

“You,” Tom said without missing beat as he pulled out a box of Kashi cereal. He turned to face her, motioning to the cabinet.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” Pamela mumbled, her face flaming with heat. 

Tom smirked, grabbing the two bowls out of the other cabinet. 

“This kitchen is laid out rather well, or did you reorganize it upon arrival?” he inquired, setting a bowl down next to her before adding the spoon he’d grabbed at some point. 

“I reorganized the entire place upon arrival,” Pamela admitted. “Started in the kitchen, worked my way to the living room, and then bathroom and finally the bedroom. Though, not much to move in the bedroom. But…”

She turned and looked at the living room behind her. 

“The telly was too cumbersome?”

“Yeah. Also, due to the whole cable thing, I just left it where it was. I learned not to move TVs and leave them be. Everything else is up for grabs.”

Tom chuckled. “So, that was why the couch was sitting in the middle of the room?”

He indicated over his shoulder as he filled his bowl. 

“It wasn’t in the middle of the room,” Pamela grumped as Tom poured milk over his cereal. “It was on an angle, creating a separate space from the kitchen.” 

“Yet, no room to unfold the bed,” Tom teased, grinning at her as he shoved the spoon into his mouth. 

“Yeah. I like things on angles,” Pamela admitted, pouring her own bowl. 

“If you could move the telly, where would you have put it?”

“I’m not sure. I think, in a perfect world, I’d put it in the corner over there. But, that’s not gonna happen. I’d also have a shorter couch and a chair instead of the long couch. I don’t honestly use the desk, so it’s just kind of in the way. And, I could do without the TV, hence why you can’t really see it from the couch. Well, before you put it back where it was before.”

Tom smiled, picked his bowl up and turned to face the living room. “I’ll put it back where you had it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. I just…”

“Hotel rooms aren’t really meant to be switched about, are they?”

“No. I think the hardest room to re-do was the one I had during my stints in Altus. It was crammed with furniture and nowhere to put it. It was a long four months with things annoying me. At least the rooms here are large enough that I can kind of get things to my liking. Oh god, I sound like a brat.”

Tom gave her a smile and shook his head. “No. You simply know what you want.”

He drank the milk out of his bowl and swung himself off the stool. Pamela finished off her own breakfast and followed after him. 

“I heard of this thing called the River Walk. Tourist attraction. Also, I must see the Alamo,” Tom said. “To answer your earlier question on what I’d like to do today.”

“I don’t know if the Alamo is open on Sundays,” she said. “But the River Walk is mostly restaurants and I’m sure they’re open by lunch. I won’t be a very good tour guide, as it’s been about four years since I’ve been down there. And I think I only ate at some restaurant and then went back to base.”

“You didn’t travel here often whilst living in Del Rio?”

Pamela shook her head as she finished her breakfast. “No. Door and Jason did. I usually remained behind with Basil.”

Tom’s face darkened at the mention of the barking dog.

Pamela smirked at him, rinsing her bowl in the sink. He shimmed up next to her and they did the dishes together.

* * *

The Alamo was indeed closed, but they were able to stand outside the gates and stare at it. Tom snapped a few shots of it with his cell phone through the gates. 

“The garden out back is nice,” Pamela offered, holding the bars with both hands and peering at the stone building beyond their reach. “But other than that, I don’t really remember much about it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. So, we’ve done the River Walk, took a boat trip and have stood outside the Alamo. Now what?”

Tom grinned and held out one huge hand. Pamela looked up, staring at his face. His eyes were hidden by his sunglasses and she had no idea what he wanted. Her hand? Since LA, if he wanted her hand, he just took it. 

(Since LA? That was last WEEK. When had it become natural to HOLD HANDS with Tom Muthafracking Hiddleston?)

“Phone, darling,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

Pamela laughed a little uncomfortably, forking her iPhone over. 

Tom flicked his finger across the screen before handing it back to her to put the pass code in (which she did) before flicking his finger a few more times. He proceeded to do something else before handing the phone back to her.

“What did you do?”

“Sent the stealth photos you took to myself. Also left you my number.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. He took her hand, weaving their fingers together and tugged her off towards the statue that sat in the plaza behind them.  

* * *

It was insanely too easy to forget Tom Hiddleston was Tom Muthafracking Hiddleston. Throughout the morning and afternoon in downtown San Antonio, a few people had noticed Tom and realized who he was (knowing from Twitter or whatever Kirsten had done he was in the area). These people usually requested photos or autographs, but for the most part Tom was left alone.

No one noticed Pamela— even if she was holding his hand. 

If she were the sort to need attention, she knew she’d develop some sort of complex from this treatment. As it was, she was almost thankful no one bothered to take notice of her.

And yet, even with all these interruptions, it wasn’t until she was standing in the parking garage at the airport she suddenly remembered Tom Hiddleston was in fact Tom Muthafracking Hiddleston. 

He was a famous actor and he was about to go back to LA to do…whatever famous actors did when not making movies. 

“You never told me what you meant,” she blurted out, her voice somehow too loud and young sounding. 

Tom paused in taking his overnight back out of her trunk. He did not say anything, just stared at her for the longest time. He set the bag back into the trunk and turned to face her. 

“I did not, did I?”

Pamela shook her head, wringing her hands together.

She suddenly felt like a nervous teenager— all knobby knees, pointy elbows, and metal braces callousing the inside of her mouth. 

Pamela had never been anything but awkward when relationships began. Her first kiss was embarrassing and wierd. It failed to live up to her expectations. 

She never expected tongues, teeth, and other things to be included in first kisses. Kisses were supposed to be sweet, but Pamela’s first kiss was mostly a guy shoving his tongue against her closed lips and Pamela staring at him in confusion. 

It hadn’t gotten much better after that. Even with the guy she thought she loved, kissing had been a somewhat of a painful embarrassing experience for some reason. She always felt she was missing something.

She wanted a manual on how to do it properly, but had yet to find one much to her annoyance.

And now, how she was face with Tom Muthafracking Hiddleston and he looked like he was on a mission. 

Tom took two steps closer to her, an intense look in his eyes. He gently took Pamela’s fidgeting hands and wove his fingers through hers on each hand and used his thumb to rub circles on her wrists in an attempt to calm her down. His eyes softened a little upon finding her pulse racing. 

She gave an uncomfortable laugh, feeling as if she was spiraling out of control.

Nothing made sense.

Everything always made sense— even her lackluster track record with the opposite sex made sense when Pamela realized that she might be pretty, but she lacked any skill when it came to the physical side of relationships. She couldn’t even hug properly. 

Tom lowered his head and made a hushing noise. 

“Calm down, darling,” he whispered in her ear. 

This ought to have been really uncomfortable for a couple reasons, one being the overly humid air around them, but Pamela shivered. 

“Have you ever listened to ‘Back to Black’ by Amy Winehouse?” Tom asked, drawing back so he could look at her. 

“I don’t know. How does it go?” Pamela asked, wondering why Tom had brought this up at this moment.

Their time was running out. 

Time was running out.

That was a song. By some British band Door loved. And Door claimed it was her theme song. Actually, Door had several themes songs. 

“It’s not a very happy song about a woman having an affair— or it could be a relationship, but likely an affair— with a man who decides to keep going back to another woman. One line keeps running through my head, which can be taken out of the context of the song.”

Pamela nodded, staring at Tom’s chest.

He seemed to have a thing for v-neck t-shirts. Each time he’d worn one, it’d been a v-neck. 

Jason hated v-necks. You had to wear v-necks with blues and Jason hated blues.

Pamela hated blues because she had to wear a skirt and hose. Luckily, she was a pilot, so she usually lived in a flight suit. 

“‘We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times,’” Tom recited in only a way Tom could. 

Pamela tore her gaze up off his chest and met his eyes— those blue-blue-blue-blue eyes. If Pamela was writing a sappy romance, she’d state she could get lost in those eyes, they were holding the sea or something else fluffy. 

Pamela wasn’t writing a sappy romance. She was living her life— as dreamlike as it’d become— and she honestly felt her breath hitch in taking in the expression on his face. 

She had to look away.

“After you left I felt like such a twit,” Tom softly said, squeezing both her tiny hands in his larger ones.

Why had she not noticed how large those things were before? He could likely crush her head in a hand.

He let go of her right hand and used his now free hand to tilt her chin upwards to look at him again. 

“All weekend I’ve been waiting for the right time, the right moment and I doubt it’ll ever come. The romantic in me wants it to be special, the perfect moment, the kind you know is just right,” he explained. His eyes darted between hers, flicking to her lips for a moment before coming back to her own eyes. “But, you’re not a romantic, are you?”

Pamela shook her head. 

Her mouth was dry. 

“Well…”

Suddenly, he was really in her space, but nowhere near her mouth. She felt his lips brush her cheek, just as he had that first morning she’d met him when he did that strange European kiss greeting, only he didn’t just brush and move this time— he lingered, pressing feather light kisses along her cheek. 

And shivers shot down her spine and her toes curled.

That was new.

She felt his nose brush hers and their breath mingled together as he moved so he was facing her once more. 

Now she was dizzy. 

Did Tom Hiddleston emote some sort of drug that made you cold and dizzy? Or did she need more sugar in her diet?

Pamela wasn’t sure what really happened, how their lips exactly wound up meeting, or how she didn’t suddenly turn into an awkward mess she’d always reverted to in the past when faced with first kisses (or kisses in general). She wasn’t sure when she reached up and (somehow) looped her arm around Tom’s neck, pulling him closer. Later, she wouldn’t be able to tell you who deepened the kiss first, who took the final steps to put them so close they were wrapped around one another, who turned so they were against the car, who shut the trunk or who broke off the kiss first. 

The only thing she was able to tell Door later was:

It wasn’t a goodbye. It was a hello.

Tom never did explain how to say goodbye without words. He did show her how to say hello. 

* * *

_Edited and reloaded 19 August 2013_


End file.
